


Darkness

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Blindfolds, Established Relationship, Light Bondage, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1538402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There’s a flicker of motion, fast and dark so Giriko jerks back instinctively, but there’s just the couch at his back and there’s nowhere to go. Then his vision is gone, wiped out by shadow, and he reaches up in a rush of adrenaline to grab at whatever Justin’s doing." Justin surprises Giriko. Giriko gets Justin back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tolerant

Giriko doesn’t get any kind of warning from the priest. He hears Justin coming, of course; the kid walks quietly, but with no one else in the house it’s easy to pick out the sound of another person’s existence even over the chainsaw’s own louder presence. But he’s thinking about a nap, and he’s comfortable sprawled out over the couch, and picking a fight sounds exhausting, so he doesn’t move or turn at the sound, even when the blond comes up directly behind him.

“I know you’re there,” Giriko points out, leaning forward to grab at his beer and swallow a mouthful. “You’re not that quiet that you can surprise me. Good try, though.”

“Not my intention,” Justin says. He’s not snapping the words, so he’s not irritated and looking for a fight, but there’s an almost-laugh back in his throat that sends a prickle of foreboding down Giriko’s spine.

He goes still, the bottle clutched in his hand, and when he speaks his words come slower with consideration. “If that ain’t it, what  _is_  your intention?”

There’s a flicker of motion, fast and dark so Giriko jerks back instinctively, but there’s just the couch at his back and there’s nowhere to go. Then his vision is gone, wiped out by shadow, and he reaches up in a rush of adrenaline to grab at whatever Justin’s doing. He can’t see, though, and his grasping fingers skid over bare skin before he can form his hand into a grip. Justin laughs and pulls away; there’s pressure against Giriko’s hair, and when he brings his fingers up to touch at his face he realizes what’s going on.

It helps take the edge off the panic, a little, although Giriko can’t  _see_ what Justin is doing and that leaves him jumpy with nerves. “Did you  _blindfold_  me?”

“Still working on it.” Justin’s disembodied voice floats just over Giriko head; when the chainsaw reaches up to grab for hair or a shirt or an arm his fingers hit the priest’s mouth, drag wet over his lip. Giriko can feel him laugh before his lips part and Giriko’s fingers slide in over his tongue; Justin bites down, gently for once, just enough to press the edge of his teeth against Giriko’s knuckles. He’s still pulling at the cloth over Giriko’s eyes, too, setting what Giriko assumes is a knot at the back of the chainsaw’s head tight enough that Giriko can feel the pressure of the blindfold in a loop around his head. Still, he’s being gentle enough with his mouth, and when he lets the cloth go fingers come immediately down against the back of Giriko’s neck. Giriko’s heartrate is calming from his first flash of panic, and it’s not that he’s  _opposed_  to this, exactly, just startled by the introduction.

“I almost cut you to pieces,” he growls in spite of his calming pulse. “Don’t fuckin’ do that without warning me.”

Justin closes his lips around Giriko’s fingers and sucks, humming something that might be but probably isn’t an apology. Giriko doesn’t push the point, just slides his fingers farther into Justin’s mouth and considers how  _warm_  the priest’s tongue is, now that he doesn’t have the distraction of sight to pull his attention away.

“I assume you’ve got some sort of plan?” he asks, pulling his hand free in consideration of Justin’s ability to speak and leaning forward to fumble the bottle down onto the table in front of him. There’s a laugh up over Giriko’s head, but it doesn’t resolve into words, and then fingers close around the back of his neck.

“On your feet.” The words are cool, faintly distant, Justin’s Death Weapon voice rather than the warmth of his usual tone. Usually it sets Giriko’s teeth on edge, the assumed superiority in that tone grating under his nerves, but this time when he braces himself for a flush of anger none is forthcoming. There’s just warm interest, dizzying hyper-focus on the input from his skin and ears that turns the words interesting with their natural texture.

“Giriko,” Justin starts, the word warning and a little cooler in his throat, and Giriko growls and throws his hand out to hit the blond. He misses but speaks anyway: “I’m getting up, keep your shirt on,” before angling himself up off the couch and away from that steadying hand at his neck. Standing is easy, instinct too deep-rooted to require the crutch of visual input, but then Giriko’s sense of the world tilts sideways, crushes in around him and sweeps away when he tries to think about it. The living room in his head is suddenly littered with obstacles in his memory: his shoes, a fallen book, a loop of spare headphones he shoved off the coffee table earlier. With his eyes open Giriko barely notices the clutter, but now it comes back with ice-cold vividness and he’s afraid to take a step.

“Justin.” His voice is  _weird_  like this. He can feel the rumble all through his chest, the sound echoing in his head like he’s talking into a glass.

There’s a touch at his wrist; Giriko snatches at it, desperate for contact, and it’s not until his hand is steady around Justin’s wrist that he feels self-conscious about the anxious speed with which he moved. Justin doesn’t comment on it, though, which is unlike him; he just tugs gently at Giriko’s hold, leading instead of pulling away, and says, “Come with me.”

The first step is hard, terrifying, really. The ground is farther away than Giriko expects and he keeps expecting to kick something or trip or just run headlong into a wall, but Justin’s hands are warm against his and he can’t admit to the damn priest that he’s almost crippled by fright, so he bites his lip and keeps moving into the dark unknown in front of him.

It gets easier, a little. Giriko doesn’t remember specifics about the rest of the house, which should make it  _worse_  but in practice just means his imagination loses out on some of the specifics of his impending demise. And he keeps  _not_  falling, each step stays clear and even and Justin’s hands don’t waver on his skin, so even when the hallway has stretched to impossible lengths in front of his feet when the priest turns him through a doorway Giriko follows without protest.

“Bedroom,” Justin offers, and Giriko grins behind the blindfold.

“That mean what I think it means?” He lets the question roll hard in the back of his throat, purr over his vocal chords until it comes out rich and low with suggestion.

Justin is less than impressed with the heat of Giriko’s tone, judging from the rapidity of his responsive laugh. “That depends on what you think it means.” There’s a push against Giriko’s shoulder, hard enough to knock him off-balance. The chainsaw stumbles, runs into resistance, and grunts in instinctive panic before he falls back to the mattress just behind him. He growls, raw this time without taking the time to savour the noise; spiking, needless panic turns the sound grating, but Justin’s talking over him, ignoring his protest.

“If you think it means I’m going to strip you down to bare skin and push you back to the mattress before I suck you off until you couldn’t see straight even with your eyes uncovered...” There are fingers against Giriko’s chest, pressing a little more lightly this time but still forcing him back. He goes, a controlled lean this time, focus centered on the way Justin’s words spill out of the darkness into his brain without the intermediary of facial expression between them.

“...Then no, it doesn’t.”

Giriko hisses, giving voice to the frustration of his half-interested cock, shoves up onto his hands so he slams his chest hard against the priest’s expectant hand pushing him back down.

“ _Fuck_  you, Justin, you can’t --” Giriko’s saying, the words firing sharp and hard past his lips, but Justin just keeps  _talking_ , louder so Giriko clearly hears him over his own protests.

“Because I’m going to ride you instead.”

Giriko stops talking. Justin stops talking. Neither of them move, there’s not even the rustle of cloth to cover the ringing silence that stands in counterpoint to Giriko’s darkness.

Then Giriko groans, faintly, so softly it would have been lost in any ambient noise at all, and Justin laughs, and Giriko nods, licks his lips.

“Yeah.” He sounds hoarse, shocked. “Yeah, yeah, okay, fine,  _good_.” He falls back to the mattress, uncoordinated with anticipation, and Justin’s fingers come down over the front of his shirt.

“Is that acceptable?” the blond purrs, his fingers pulling the buttons of Giriko’s shirt loose.

“Like you would stop even if it wasn’t,”Giriko growls, but he’s grinning and the delight comes through in his words. “Of  _course_  it’s acceptable. You  _know_  that.”

“I do.” Justin’s worked the whole front of the chainsaw’s shirt loose, one-handed too, judging from the lopsided weight pressing the mattress lower just alongside Giriko’s hip. “I just like to hear you say it.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Giriko says, or tries to say. Justin’s fingers keep going lower, skim over the front of his jeans, but more startling is the press of heat and moisture against his stomach as Justin licks at his skin. With no warning from the sight of the priest’s blond head the sensation is shocking, blows Giriko’s mind away from its path and forcibly drags sound up his throat in the form of a moan. Justin laughs without pulling away and his fingers find and catch on Giriko’s button, pull it free of the denim. Giriko reaches to help, maybe, but his hands hit Justin’s shoulders instead and then the blond is pulling his zipper down too, leaning in to press his mouth over the pulled-tight fabric of the other’s boxers and exhaling hot, sending a shudder of reaction all up Giriko’s spine.

“Faster,” he demands, bucking up against Justin’s mouth. “I can’t fucking  _see_  your mouth on me, that’s bad enough, don’t make me wait too.”

The pressure vanishes. “I told you,” Justin’s voice comes clear, faintly condescending, but there’s a pull at the cloth around Giriko’s hips and the chainsaw is too distracted by scrabbling for purchase on the mattress so he can arch up off the bed to complain. “I’m not going to suck you off.”

His pants and boxers come free, slip down Giriko’s legs out of contact, and the chainsaw sits up quick, reaching out for the source of that voice. “No,” he agrees, fumbling wildly through unresisting air. “No, you said you’d fuck yourself on me, get  _back_  here and keep your  _damn_  promise.”

There’s a laugh off at Giriko’s right -- when did Justin move over there? -- and the sound of a drawer opening. The chainsaw turns, reaches out again but is less surprised, this time, when he comes up with nothing, and when sound comes from the foot of the bed again he doesn’t even try to grab at it.

“I’m working on it.” Giriko can hear amusement in Justin’s voice, can  _hear_  the blond’s smile even if he can’t see it. “It does take a minute or two. Are you always this impatient when you can’t see?”

“I am  _always_  this impatient,” Giriko growls. There’s pressure on his legs, a shift in the mattress, and when he grabs this time he gets his hands around Justin’s hips. The blond’s straddling him, up on his knees, and even the knowledge that Justin is  _letting_  him touch doesn’t undermine the satisfaction of leaning in close, especially when Giriko’s mouth hits bare skin instead of the cover of a shirt. “Sight’s got nothing to do with it,” he tries to say, but his mouth is open and he’s licking against Justin’s chest, grinning when he feels the priest stutter a breath and arch forward into the touch, so the words are a little lost in the process.

Justin’s hand comes down against the back of Giriko’s neck, warm and a little startling, and Giriko tries to get one hand around to the front of the priest’s pants. That’s easy enough, but with the loss of his grip goes loss of control, and when Justin laughs again and slides backwards Giriko can’t stop him, can just flail at the air and groan, “ _Fuck_  Justin, get  _back_  here.”

“Hang  _on_ ,” Justin half-laughs. “I have to get my clothes off first, you know.”

“I don’t  _care_ ,” Giriko growls, sliding forward to the edge of the bed and reaching out, missing wherever Justin is entirely. “I’ll  _cut_  them off you, whatever, just come --”

Fingers hit his grasping wrist, curl gentle and warm and suddenly Justin’s right there, skin everywhere and so hot Giriko can’t tell  _what_  he’s touching, how the blond is oriented, just that he’s  _here_  and against Giriko’s body and there doesn’t appear to be any intervening clothing anymore. His sigh is a rumble of satisfaction, and then they’re both falling backward, Giriko tipping his weight back and pulling Justin with him so they both land heavily on the bed.

“Oof,” Justin protests at the impact. “You’re so  _needy_  when you can’t see, I’m sure I’d handle a blindfold much better than you are.”

“Shut up,” Giriko says into his skin. Judging from the angle of the sound it’s probably Justin’s stomach, maybe the edge of his chest -- yes, that’s it, Giriko can make out the outline of ribs under his mouth, when he licks he can feel Justin’s stammered gasp for air under his tongue. “We’ll try that next time.”

“I can take it off, you know,” Justin points out, so condescending that Giriko is growling a refusal before he’s properly thought about it.

“ _Fuck_  you, it stays on. And next time  _I_ cover  _your_  eyes, we’ll see how you like that.”

“Mm,” Justin purrs. His weight shifts, pressure settles over Giriko’s hips, and when the chainsaw goes questing with his hands and mouth he finds that Justin’s straddling him, a little too far forward for Giriko’s cock to be anywhere it wants to be, but --

Justin hisses, leans forward to dig his cock against Giriko’s hand, and the chainsaw grins. Well, at least he’s not the only one into this.

“Let me,” Justin starts, but Giriko talks over him fast and loud.

“You can do whatever you  _want_. I’m just going to be doing what I can with this stupid thing over my eyes, and right now I’ve got what I want.” He twists his wrist, wraps his fingers around the priest’s length, and Justin actually rocks up into it, thrusting up for more friction as best he can from the somewhat awkward angle.

“ _Giriko_ ,” Justin protests, and Giriko tightens his hold and strokes over him again so whatever else the blond was going to say is lost in a half-repressed groan.

“Hurry  _up_ ,” he growls, grabbing at the priest’s hip in a futile attempt to pull him down lower or farther back or  _something_ , just to get some hot skin for the chainsaw to grind against.

Fingers close over his bracing hand, and when Justin pulls Giriko starts to protest even before his hand is free, leaning forward and in so he can butt his head against the priest’s skinny chest as he hisses, “Don’t be a little bitch, Justin, I’m already wearing --”

“Hold your hand still,” Justin says, voice impressively calm given the way he’s instinctively rocking up into Giriko’s grip. His fingers hold the chainsaw’s hand steady, palm-up, and when cool liquid drips over Giriko’s fingers he catches on.

“ _Really_.” He curls his hand into a loose fist, smears his fingers as thoroughly in the lube as he can one-handed. “I can’t even see and you want my fingers instead of your own?”

He’s teasing, mostly, but Justin’s breath catches in his throat. It’s only audible because Giriko’s listening for it, cause he’s got nothing  _else_  to read from, but he does hear it, and it brings him up short.

“You do.” It’s not a question. Giriko’s reaching around Justin’s hip, feeling his way via a thumb against the blond’s skin so he can tell where he is. The priest doesn’t answer, but his continued silence is as much answer as Giriko ever gets, with these sorts of things.

“Wow.” He’s found his way, slippery fingers gliding over familiar skin, and Justin’s still not speaking but every half-heard hiss of anticipation is better than a sentence. “You just fucking  _love_  having me inside you don’t you?” He curls his fingers, twists his wrist to push two together inside the blond in a single movement. Justin breathes out so calmly and so evenly that Giriko can hear the effort underlining the sound, the focus it costs Justin to keep it that way.

“Fuck.” He slides his hand in farther, judges Justin’s appreciation from the way the blond doesn’t protest, the tiny movement of his hips forward and back so he’s rocking himself between Giriko’s hands. “I thought your expressions were the hottest thing about you but I mighta been wrong.” When he thrusts his hand he can hear the slick catch of the lube on skin, the sharp catch of breath as Justin rocks up in response, the faint creak of the mattress under Justin’s shifting weight. “I can hear every damn thing you do.” Justin sighs, just barely, on his exhale, comes down to open himself up over Giriko’s moving fingers. “Are you  _always_  making sounds like this?”

Justin’s fingers close on Giriko’s wrist, hold his hand steady while the blond draws himself up and free. He doesn’t speak, still; Giriko’s not sure if it’s because he can’t level off his voice or just so Giriko can keep listening to the ever-louder pant to his breathing, and it doesn’t matter anyway. Justin pushes him back and he lets the priest’s cock go, falls back heavily to the mattress so he is staring at the ceiling, or would be if he were seeing anything but the dark fabric of the blindfold. His slippery hand comes down to stroke over himself, a slow easy coating of lube over sensitive skin, and he reaches out with his other hand, feeling blindly through the air, until his fingers hit Justin’s shoulder, and that’s enough. The contact tells him enough about the blond’s movements, the tip forward as he adjusts his weight, the rise as he comes up higher on his knees, that Giriko’s not enormously startled when fingers come out to hold his cock steady.

It’s agonizingly slow, is what it is. Justin’s not giving any sensation with his hand, really, and even when he starts to lower himself over Giriko’s length it’s  _slow_ , he’s moving at a crawl, and even the tight heat of Justin slowly closing around him isn’t enough to take the painful edge off the delay.

“ _Justin_ ,” Giriko groans, “Hurry  _up_ ,” but the priest doesn’t speed up or say anything, although he takes a breath like he’s thinking about it. But then he’s down, lowered all the way around the older man, and Giriko groans “ _Finally_ ,” and reaches out to fumble his way back into a grip on the blond’s own length.

The priest arches back when Giriko strokes him; the chainsaw can feel the movement straight down his spine, hot satisfaction pooling in his blood, and to boot Justin moans sharp and loud, like he’s ten minutes in already instead of maybe two. But he’s not  _moving_ , not yet, and Giriko growls and half-sits up into the darkness of the world, and jerks hard over the priest’s cock and hisses, “Fucking  _move_ , don’t  _tease_  me.”

Justin laughs, faint and breathy and amused. A hand presses down on Giriko’s chest, Justin bracing himself, and then he  _is_  moving, coming up at an angle on his knees to slide back down slow but faster than the first time, and Giriko nearly loses his grip in spite of his best intentions.

“Don’t stop,” Justin says.

“Don’t  _you_  stop,” Giriko snaps back, but he resets his hold and tries to focus on that, even when the priest increases his pace, starts well and truly fucking himself without Giriko doing anything at all but jerking him off. It feels  _amazing_ , of course, friction and heat and the tight hold of Justin around him, but without vision to ground him the world starts to lift up and away, breathing blending with hearing so he’s not sure if he’s hearing himself or Justin starting to gasp, until everything is saturated red and liquid with heat, until Justin’s panting and Giriko hand is digging into a handful of soft hair and he’s not sure who’s where or what’s going on, just that it’s good and hot and slick and he needs  _more_.

“ _Giriko_ ,” Justin says, and he sounds broken, he sounds so shattered Giriko’s memory flashes an image of the way he must look, the way he always looks when he sounds like that, all glazed blue eyes and parted lips and flushed cheeks. Giriko would respond if he could, but his coherency is even more astray than Justin’s; all he manages is a guttural moan, more a grunt of acknowledgment than anything else. Justin gasps, rocks forward, and some part of his weight shifts over Giriko’s hips so when he comes back down the friction is different, drags hot over Giriko’s cock as the priest slides down onto him, and orgasm hits Giriko without warning, pulsing rhythm under his skin and forcing a groan of satisfaction from his throat as he comes. Justin whimpers in almost-encouragement and drops down as deep as he can go, shifts his weight again so Giriko can feel the motion through his cock, and the chainsaw groans in protest of too much sensation and grabs at Justin’s hip to hold him still.

His shadowed vision is still white-washed with pleasure when he recalls himself, his hand still moving though it’s arrhythmic enough that Justin is starting to pant in desperation. When he resumes his former pattern, faster and harder than before, the sound Justin makes, a low ragged wail of appreciation, is enough to tell him the blond is right on the edge -- Justin never goes  _that_  incoherent unless he’s about to come -- even before he feels the ripple of pleasure hit the blond’s body as warm wetness splashes over his fingers and stomach.

Giriko is pulling the blindfold off while Justin is still trembling over him, before the priest has slid himself free or the chainsaw has even let his grip on Justin’s length go. Justin starts laughing as Giriko opens his eyes to a world gone painfully bright in the last few minutes, keeps laughing even when Giriko squints and growls and pulls him down to the mattress with him.

“I can’t believe you  _blindfolded_  me,” he hisses against the blond’s ear.

Justin’s arms comes around him and the priest sighs, voice rippling with the low hum of pleasure that doesn’t flicker even when Giriko bites at his ear.

“I can’t believe you left it on,” he finally says.

Giriko opens his mouth to retort, comes up with nothing, and has to hiss in response instead. Justin starts laughing again, but even with the absolutely surety that the blond is laughing  _at_  him, Giriko can’t find the aggression to do more than growl wordless threats into the curve of his ear, not even aware that he’s grinning in response to Justin’s amusement.


	2. Willing

The hardest part is actually finding the blindfold. Giriko didn’t think to look for it the first time until Justin had scooped it up and bundled it away along with his clothes, and then he puts it away somewhere and Giriko can’t  _find_  it. It’s not that he needs that particular strip of cloth, and if he had thought that through originally he would have just used a tie or an undershirt or something. But he starts off looking, and once he  _looks_  not using it would be admitting defeat, and he can’t have that.

So he waits for a week and a half, until Justin leaves for a most-of-the-day diplomatic mission he’s supposed to be observing, and then Giriko tears every inch of the bedroom apart. He digs through drawers, checks every pocket of every jacket Justin owns, checks both side tables twice each, and is just on the verge of giving up when he sees a strip of dark cloth under the edge of the bed.

The priest is using it as a bookmark. For a fucking  _Bible_. Giriko is unclear on the exact religious connotations of being a Death Weapon, or worshipping Lord Death or whatever the fuck it is the blond does, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t involve reading the Bible. Which means this is solely to spite Giriko, taking advantage of his natural avoidance of the damn thing to hide what he’s looking for, what Justin  _knows_  he’s looking for, in plain sight.

“Fucking  _priest_ ,” Giriko hisses, and then goes to dig through another drawer just to be spiteful.

He’s waiting by the front door when Justin gets home, winding the blindfold around and around his hands idly. The click of the lock tips him off, though, so when Justin opens the door and looks at him he’s reclining against the wall, holding the strip of fabric up with a grin.

Justin looks at his face, looks at the blindfold, then turns away to shut the door, but not before Giriko catches the curve of a smirk over his lips.

“You found it, then.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Yeah.” Giriko steps forward before Justin has turned back around, close so he’s pressed up against the other’s back. “The  _Bible_? You don’t even read that shit.”

Justin laughs. He makes no move to pull away; if anything he cants his shoulders back an inch, rests part of his weight against the larger man’s body. “Did you read what page it was marking?”

“What?” Giriko drops an arm down over Justin’s shoulders, angles his elbow so he’s got his forearm hooked around the other’s neck. “No, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Romans.” Justin’s voice sounds dreamy. He tips his head back against Giriko’s shoulder; his eyes are shut, like he’s reciting from the back of his eyelids. “Chapter one, verse 27.”

“Like that means goddamn anything to me.” Giriko winds the blindfold over Justin’s closed eyes, pulls the cloth tight against the back of the blond head while Justin’s throat works in a laugh.

“‘And the men,’” he starts, his voice taking on an odd sing-song tone Giriko’s never heard from him before. “‘Likewise gave up natural relations with women and were consumed with passion for one another.’” He lifts his head, bows it forward so Giriko can pull a knot in the blindfold, the dark fabric creasing Justin’s yellow hair. “‘Men committing shameless acts with men and receiving in themselves the due penalty for their error.’”

“ _Due penalty_ ,” Giriko repeats back, leaning in so he can lick against the outer curve of Justin’s ear. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I suppose we’ll both find out,” Justin says. Giriko can hear the smile in his voice even before the blond turns his head back, begging silently for a kiss.

“Shameless, huh?” Giriko only makes Justin wait a minute before he does come in to kiss him, crushing the priest’s mouth with his until his teeth catch against the other’s lip. Justin doesn’t protest, just folds backwards and around until he can reach out to touch the chainsaw. It’s not until Giriko feels the fumble of questing fingers that he remembers that Justin can’t see with the blindfold he’s got on, pulls away and closes his fingers a little too hard around one of Justin’s wrists.

“Very,” Justin manages, licking his lower lip far more slowly than he could possibly need to. “I don’t even remember what shame is anymore.”

“That’s too bad,” Giriko growls, stepping backwards and pulling Justin in his wake. The blond stumbles forward, off-balance but unresisting otherwise. “You look so good when you blush.”

Justin laughs at that, a little louder than usual, like he’s making up for the lack of sight with volume, and when Giriko steps aside and shoves him forward with a hand on his shoulders he steps forward obediently, three unerring steps until he can reach out and touch the bed in front of him. Giriko makes a face, irked with Justin’s ease of movement, and steps in behind the blond, presses himself in against Justin’s back so he can growl, “Can you fucking see through that?” against the other’s ear.

Justin laughs again, twists in Giriko’s hold so his mouth bumps against the chainsaw’s, sideways so it’s more quick contact than a kiss. “Of course I can’t.”

“How’re you moving so  _easily_?” Giriko demands, pulling up against Justin’s robes. The blond turns away again, lifts his arms over his head so Giriko can drag his clothes up over his head.

“Because I remember the layout of my apartment.” Justin’s voice is muffled in fabric, coming into clarity as Giriko gets the cloth up over his head and throws it aside. He reaches out behind himself, fingers brushing against Giriko’s stomach before he turns with enough care that the chainsaw is mollified regarding his sight, or lack thereof. “I’m sorry you don’t, but I am able to navigate my own home without seeing if I need to.”

“Yeah, well.” Justin’s down to slacks and his undershirt, now, looking much smaller and younger than he does in the cover of his robes. Giriko grabs at the bottom of his shirt and drags that up and off too, while he’s at it. “You’ve had longer to learn it.”

“Sure,” Justin purrs. Freed of his shirt, he’s working his fingers up under the loose fabric of Giriko’s own clothing, dragging up over the chainsaw’s skin until Giriko almost doesn’t hear what he’s saying. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“You’re fucking mouthy with your eyes covered,” Giriko hisses. He flings the shirt away, though the lightness of the fabric deprives him of the satisfaction of any resistance to the throw. When he grabs at Justin’s pants he catches the waistband of the slacks with one hand, leaving his other free to grind his palm into the front of the priest’s hips, and the pained whimper of want this elicits from the blond’s throat is  _exactly_  the kind of resistance he wants. “Even worse than usual. I didn’t think that was  _possible_.”

Justin clutches at Giriko’s wrist to hold the chainsaw’s hand steady so he can rock up into it; Giriko can feel the blond going hard under his fingers even before he starts to pull the front of Justin’s pants open. “I’m full of surprises.” He sounds almost composed, although as soon as Giriko gets his fly down he’s wiggling quick out of the clothes, dropping back to sit on the edge of the bed so he can kick his shoes and pants off at once. “I have to keep you  _interested_.”

“You’re the one interested here,” Giriko observes, sliding his palm up over the blond’s length and watching the way Justin’s mouth drops open even though he manages to keep back an audible response. The priest gapes utterly soundless for a moment; then he swallows, clenches his jaw hard around whatever sound he  _wants_  to make, and when he does speak his voice is impressively cool, which is to say it’s only warm and not setting the air alight.

“Are you  _not_  interested?” Justin scoots back on the bed, pulling away from Giriko’s touch with a show of resolve that Giriko is half-impressed by in spite of his attempt to stay angry. The priest drops back onto an elbow so he’s lounging over the bed, reaches down to wrap his fingers around himself, and this time he’s makes  _no_  attempt to restrain his moan of response. “I can take care of myself, if you’re not, you know. The blindfold is making it  _much_  easier to form the visuals in my head, I have to say.”

Giriko’s throat makes the faintest pained whimper and Justin’s mouth turns up into a grin the priest only barely fights back. His hand strokes up over himself, his head angles back, and even though Giriko’s pretty sure the blond’s overstating the groan he offers it doesn’t stop the rush of responsive blood that rushes straight to the chainsaw’s cock.

“ _Fuck_ ,” and he’s scrambling out of his clothes, kicking one shoe under the bed and one into the wall while he forces his button open and zipper down, a task made harder by how violently hard he is already. Justin laughs without tipping his head forward, the sound pulling tight and strained from the angle of his throat, and he is  _really_  dragging out his movements now, spending longer stroking his thumb over himself than actually jerking himself off. Giriko growls, yanks on the bottom edge of his shirt so hard he can feel the edge of a seam or maybe a button give way, throws it aside without checking the damage so he can grab Justin’s hand and pull his grip loose.

“You’re not coming without me,” he warns, leaning in so his skin runs up against Justin’s and the priest can tell he’s there. Justin’s head comes up from its exaggerated angle and the damn priest is still smiling, it’s the only thing Giriko can look at with the usual taunt in his blue eyes covered.

“I wasn’t anything like close,” he points out, voice perfectly even now. Giriko hisses and shoves him backwards; Justin goes, drops flat onto the mattress, but his smirk is widening and he’s still talking. “Just wanted to get you to hurry up and join me.”

“I should leave you alone just for that,” Giriko points out against Justin’s shoulder, teeth catching on the other’s skin as he speaks.

“You won’t.”

If Justin weren’t so  _right_ , it would be less irritating, but he  _is_ , and it is exactly that that means Giriko can’t abandon him blind and alone in the middle of the room, much though the idea is gratifying. He bites instead, hard enough to draw blood and  _then_  to draw a whine of pained protest from the blond, grabs at Justin’s hip as he sits up and away.

“Roll over.” He pushes as fast as he speaks, not giving Justin a chance to complain, and without the warning of seeing him Justin can’t resist, just turns over under the force of the chainsaw’s movement. “And stay there.”

He moves back quickly, before Justin has a chance to get his bearings, so the priest is just starting to frown in frustration and push himself up off the bed when Giriko gets to the drawer he’s looking for. The sound apparently tips the blond off, because he goes still where he is, up on one elbow on the bed and mouth open around the start of a protest that dies into silence instead.

“Stay  _there_ ,” Giriko snaps as he comes back over with the bottle of lube in his hand. He shoves at Justin’s shoulders, hard, and either the priest didn’t realize Giriko was there or he’s decided to go the passive route, because he drops flat to the mattress and doesn’t try to push himself up again, even though Giriko knows perfectly well the blond prefers to be on his back. “I’m gonna take you like this, that’s what you get for being a fucking little tease.”

“I  _wasn’t_  teasing,” Justin hisses irritably, but he’s shifting his legs apart and angling his hips expectantly, and he can’t see the way Giriko’s grinning at how fucking  _eager_  the blond is. “I wanted you to hurry  _up_.”

Giriko spills lube over his hand, coats two fingers in the stuff, and reaches down to Justin’s ass, strokes over his entrance so the blond can feel the pressure of both together.

“Fast enough for you?” he asks rhetorically, and pushes both in together. He’s not moving quickly -- he doesn’t want to  _actually_  hurt the blond, not this time -- but Justin still slides forward over the bed before his legs catch on the edge and Giriko’s fingers slide inside him. The strangled groan Justin offers into the sheets in a futile attempt to hide the sound makes Giriko grin wider, push in farther until the blond’s held breath shatters into desperate shallow panting.

“You gotta breathe,” Giriko points out reasonably, finally reaching down to grab the blond’s hip and steady him against the intrusion of the chainsaw’s hand. “You should know better by now, you gotta relax into it.”

“I  _know_ ,” Justin snaps. He must be okay, if he can manage irritation, so Giriko slides his hand back and comes back forward. The priest gasps through it, this time, audibly forcing himself to breathe into the stretch, and when Giriko twists his fingers just slightly Justin’s inhale hitches up into a half-repressed moan.

“Giriko --” Justin starts, turning his head as if he can actually look back and see what Giriko is doing.

“I  _know_ ,” Giriko shoots back, draws his hand back and thrusts back forward, curling his fingers against that same spot, and Justin gasps and jerks, hips coming up off the bed by an inch.

“Ready for me?” Giriko asks, mostly rhetorically, and isn’t surprised when Justin catches a breath and manages, “ _God_  no, you’re way too fucking big for me yet.” It makes Giriko laugh anyway, bright and pleased, and then he really sets to work, holding Justin steady and working his hand at a slowly increasing rhythm inside the blond. Justin recognizes the pattern too, drops his head back down to the mattress and pants into the sheets, relaxes down against the bed and into Giriko’s movements until the chainsaw can feel the slight angle of the blond’s hips arching up to meet him, tipping for more contact just in advance of the push of his fingers.

“Now you’re ready,” he observes. It’s a statement, not a question, and Justin doesn’t protest, just whines at the loss of sensation as Giriko slides his hand free. The chainsaw steps back; with the removal of his hand from Justin’s hip the priest is free to move if he wants, roll over or fit a hand down between himself and the mattress. He does neither, just presses his face against the bed and rocks his hips gently into the minor resistance of the mattress. Giriko’s grinning when he curls his fingers around the bottle of lube, comes back in to touch at the blond’s hip while he gets the bottle open one-handed so he can spill cool liquid over the hot skin of his cock. Justin goes still, like he’s steadied or grounded by Giriko’s touch, and the thrill of that is still ringing in the chainsaw’s head when he steps in and fits himself against the blond’s entrance.

Justin takes a breath shaking with anticipation, tries to hitch himself impossibly backwards. Giriko laughs, sharp and unfettered so the sound splashes hot over his tongue, sets his hands tight against Justin’s hips and comes forward just like Justin likes him to, in the long smooth thrust that makes Justin’s back arch and pulls an involuntary moan of half-pain and half-appreciation from the other.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Giriko groans, low and heavy with satisfaction. “ _God_  you feel good, you  _always_  feel so fucking good, Justin.” Justin’s shaking, quivering under his touch and tensing around him until even the chainsaw wiggling a hand down around to get a grip over the priest’s cock doesn’t cause any discernible increase in the pace of his breathing. He does lift himself up, a little, attempts to make space for Giriko’s hand to stroke against him, and that’s a good sign even if he’s being unusually quiet.

“Justin?” Giriko asks, just to be on the safe side, though he slides back an inch, rocks back forward without waiting for a response. “Justin, hey, talk to me, you okay?”

“Keep talking,”Justin says. His voice is strained and raw, his hands are curling into fists over the sheets of the bed, but he’s bucking forward into Giriko’s hand, so the chainsaw keeps dragging his grip up over the blond’s length. “I can’t...I can’t tell where you  _are_.”

Giriko starts laughing; he can’t help it. “ _Can’t_  you?” He thrusts forward, hard enough that Justin’s head angles back and the blond groans in desperate response. “I’m  _inside_  you, can’t you  _tell_?”

“Ah,” Justin gasps. “Ah,  _no_ , that’s not what I  _mean_ , I --” Giriko comes forward again, grinning in dark amusement even before Justin’s words cut off in a sharp whine, as he knew they would. “Ah. I can’t…” His hands catch on the sheets, curl into desperate fists. “I can’t tell where I  _am_ , it’s all just  _feeling_  --”

“You’re here,” Giriko says, and Justin shudders like he’s said something of value. The chainsaw angles over the priest, low enough that his chest brushes against Justin’s back, and the blond curls up to press their bodies together. “I’ve got you, you’re with  _me_.” Justin’s panting, desperate for air and twisting up, angling for more contact and more friction and resulting in almost no movement of his own at all, but that’s okay, Giriko has more than enough power for the both of them. “You like this? Not being able to see, just waiting for me to act on you?”

“No,” Justin almost sobs, pulling so hard on the sheets they slide in towards him. “ _No_ , I  _hate_  it, I  _do_.”

Giriko presses down, lets his weight bear Justin to the bed so he can brush his lips against the priest’s ear. “ _Liar_.”

Justin’s breath catches, his hips jerk involuntarily so Giriko hisses, and when he moans and comes the quiver of his body feels like submission. Giriko lets him ride out the aftershocks, waits for the first even breath from the blond before he lets him go, comes back up so he can grab Justin’s hips and pursue his own orgasm. Justin groans at the resumed motion, but he’s leaning back into it too; after a moment he comes up on his elbows to better brace himself against the thrust of Giriko’s hips. With the smooth sweep of the blond’s back in front of him and the half-heard whines of Justin’s breathing with every thrust, it’s hardly a minute before Giriko’s rhythm goes jagged and a rush of pleasure replaces the thud of his heart.

Justin stays still, leaning hard into the bed, for the few minutes it takes Giriko to catch his breath. He doesn’t move when Giriko shifts his weight down over the blond’s slender back, doesn’t lift a hand to help him, but he does shiver in something that’s part relief and part a flinch when the chainsaw gets his fingers under the blindfold and tugs it free. He stays still for another breath after that, blinking his eyes back into focus while Giriko slides himself free and comes back in to drop heavily onto the bed alongside Justin. By the time he’s looking up, the priest’s blue eyes are tracking his face and there’s a curl of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Shameless,” Justin purrs as he leans down to lick against the chainsaw’s earrings. Giriko starts to laugh even before he turns his head to give the priest better access.


End file.
